


The Stability of Pain

by PiecesOfScully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Other, because CC and the PTB pretend grief doesn't exist for longer than a week, dealing with grief, inner scully ramblings, post christmas carol, post emily, post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 15:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8213566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PiecesOfScully/pseuds/PiecesOfScully
Summary: One night, Scully deals with the grief over losing Emily and what could have been.





	

She lay in bed staring at the stark white surface of her ceiling, lying perfectly still, concentrating on her breathing. 

Inhale through the nose, hold it for five seconds, exhale through the mouth, repeat .

The clock to her right reads 2:36 a.m., though she refuses to look at it, she doesn’t need to. She feels each minute as it passes, time ticking by so slowly that it almost feels as if it’s going in slow motion. For the first hour she lay there tossing and turning, sending quick glances to her clock before checking it twice, convinced that the screen had frozen.

It wasn’t.

It’s agonizing how slow time passes when you’re lying in wait, yet waiting for nothing. Just for it to pass. 

Tonight, her bedroom is quiet, save for her long breaths. Her eyes close tight and she wills herself to concentrate on the smooth, elongated whoosh of air entering and leaving her lungs. The same amount of concentration isn’t needed to be able to hear her daughters breathing that last night she lay comatose in the hospital bed. All she has to do is sit quietly for a few moments and the sound of the oxygen nasal cannulas whistle rings in her ears, her congested breaths wet and haggard. 

The rapid rise and fall of her small hospital gown covered chest plays like a movie on the back of her eyelids when she closes her eyes. The vision, one no mother should ever fall victim to seeing, is now burned into her brain, branding her soul. 

During the day, when the sun is high and she’s clad in her armor of perfectly tailored suits and precisely applied makeup, it’s these occurrences that nestle deep between her shoulders blades. Hidden securely beneath her black blazer, the inconspicuous weight of the events bear down on her small frame, screaming violently at her as they threaten to topple her over at any given moment. Even amidst the loudness of the daytime filled with the endless chatter, the bustle of cars caught in midday traffic, the endless chirps of cell phones, the memories are there haunting her like a shadow she can’t seem to shake loose. 

It’s the nighttime, however, where her thoughts are accosted by glimpses of a future that was destined to end before really beginning. The factual being replaced by the fantasy. The dreams she has for a miracle child born with an early expiration date, pointless hopes for a daughter who will never be granted the right to experience them, torment her as the seconds pass by at a glacial pace. 

There was to be no bedtime stories or “Please just read it once more, mommy,” as the Elmo nightlight cast a comforting glow throughout the small room before bed. Her tiny body tucked into the crook of her arm as she pulled her purple covers up to her chin, promising to go to sleep if Goodnight Moon could be read one last time. 

No first day of school excitement as they packed her new backpack full of school supplies and the Wonder Woman lunchbox she’d insisted that she absolutely needed. Her new shoes that are covered in sparkles with the laces double knotted so not to become loose during a game of ‘tag’ during recess. 

There would be no holding her snuggly until she felt her hot chocolate scented breath puff against her neck, signaling she was finally asleep, and pressing a kiss to her forehead while silently wishing her sweet dreams. 

Early Christmas mornings that faintly smell of sugar cookies and are filled with the delighted squeals of a little girl surrounded by presents wrapped in reindeer themed paper and red felt bows, or impromptu bubble baths with toys floating around in the middle of a rainy Saturday were simply not fated for her. 

She turns slowly in bed, burrowing into the faux comfort that only a heavy duvet and down pillows can provide, squeezing her eyes shut to shield her brain from the time displayed on the clock. When your alarm clock is set to wake you in just a few short hours, it’s best not to know that the time spent tossing and turning is longer than the time you’ll get actually sleeping, she thinks. 

With the release of a deep, resigned sigh, her brain attempts to assure her that the what could have been is far different than what should have been, that her choice to end the child’s misery was the right thing to do. It reminds her that the sharp pain she feels throughout the day balances out the aching that replaces it at night, both of which she has been destined to carry with her until her end of days. 

But her heart betrays her, reminding her nightly that she had been a mother for a short while. For six days she had been a mom to a little girl who looked exactly like Melissa, before the long beep alerted her to the lack of a heartbeat and the abrupt ending of her short journey into motherhood that was never meant to be. 

xxxxx


End file.
